


A Different Kind of Trouble

by OKDeanna



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Comfort/Angst, Comforting Derek, First Kiss, M/M, Pre-Derek Hale/Stiles, Pre-Slash, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 16:07:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1654502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OKDeanna/pseuds/OKDeanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski can't forget seeing the ghost of his mother at Echo House, but he also can't tell anyone about it because he knows they wouldn't understand. They'd think him crazy. Stiles knows what he saw, though, and who. He also knows Derek Hale is probably the only person in the world as messed up as he is, if not more so, and that's saying something. Still, when the older werewolf inadvertently overhears his secret on Mother's Day, Stiles finds himself sharing more than he expected, and getting a whole lot more than deserved in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Kind of Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Set after the end of S3b, but going AU just before the last few minutes of the S3b finale episode.  
> Prompt: _Mother's Day_  
>  A/N: This story mentions rumored scenes that were cut from the aired version of the Echo House episode. Those may or may not be the upcoming 3b DVD release, I don't know. I do know, I hope we get to see it eventually. I'd love to see how Dylan did in those scenes.  
> Beta: [**spikesredqueen**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/search?utf8=%E2%9C%93&work_search%5Bquery%5D=spikesredqueen)

**A Different Kind of Trouble**

Stiles waited for his dad to leave for work before he shuffled out the front door and headed for his jeep. He wasn't sure why he didn't want his dad to know that he was going to the cemetery today, but he felt the need to hide it just the same.

Hell, he felt the need to hide a lot of things these days. Not the same things as he had in the past, of course, but there were still things he didn't tell his dad. Or anyone else, either. Even Scott. Even Lydia. 

It took less than twenty minutes to get to the cemetery where his mother was buried, and less than five to park his jeep and make his way to her grave. He hadn't thought to stop and bring flowers this time, but he knew she wouldn't be too upset with him for it. She would understand that his mind wasn't on the things he should be on today. She always did when it happened. Or she had when she was still alive, at least.

Shaking his head, Stiles lowered himself to his knees in front of her headstone, touching the familiar, engraved lettering with fingers that shook. "Happy Mother's Day, mom," he said quietly, dropping his arm to pull out the small bit of weeds that covered the bottom of her stone. "I know I wasn't supposed to come today, but…well, I needed to get out of the house."

He needed to get out of the house a lot lately. But only when he knew his dad and his friends were busy doing other things. In other places. 

Well, except for Derek. 

No one ever knew what Derek did during the day. Least of all Stiles.

"I had another dream last night," he shared, scrubbing a hand over his head, ruffling his too long hair in the back. "I was at Echo House again and you were still sitting in the common room playing a game." He briefly closed his eyes as the memory of his hallucination of her washed over him. "I never told anyone I saw you in there, mom. I probably should have, I suppose, but…how do I tell someone something like that? They'll think I'm crazy, Mom. Or crazier anyway."

He sighed. "I don't know what to do here. I keep pretending that everything is fine, but it isn't, Mom. It isn't fine. I'm not fine, and I don't know how to tell dad or Scott because they need me to be okay. They need me to keep it together, and I'm trying, Mom. I am, but I just—"

Stiles caught sight of movement in his peripheral. When he turned toward it, he recognized a familiar head of dark hair and an equally familiar black leather jacket perched next to a tree in the distance. 

Stiles frowned, and huffed in irritation at being interrupted.

"Did you follow me here, Derek? Is that a thing you're doing again now?"

Derek arched an eyebrow, but otherwise said nothing, instead pointing to a large headstone a few feet away from where he stood by the tree. Stiles didn't even need to look to know the names that would be on it. 

_Shit_.

"I'm sorry," he said, rushing to his feet. "I didn't even think that you might be— That you'd want to— Shit. I'm gonna go. I can come back another time."

Stiles turned to leave, but he'd only taken a step when he heard the quick crunch of boots moving across grass. Strong fingers wrapped around his bicep, swinging him around fast enough to make his head spin and his heart race.

"Jesus Christ, Derek! Warn a guy before you decide to manhandle him, would you?" He would've shook his head but he was afraid he'd lose what was left of his balance if he tried it. He glared, though. He glared hard. "What do you want? Why'd you stop me?"

Derek eyed him for a moment then let go, taking a step back away from him. "You don't have to leave," he said, thrusting his hands into his jacket's pockets. "You were here first. I didn't even realize you were here until I heard you speak."

He spread his jacket with his hands and admitted softly, "I guess we both had things we wanted to say to our mothers today."

Stiles almost asked what Derek wanted to say to his mom, but he was afraid he might already know the answer to that, and wasn't at all sure he could hear the confirmation from the other man without wanting to cry for him.

Cry for them both.

Glancing off into the distance, Stiles sighed. "I don't even know what I’m doing here, man. Talking to a headstone doesn't seem like the sanest thing for me to do right now, and yet, here I am, doing it anyway." He shook his head. "I should get out of here. I told my dad I was staying home today."

"You lied to him? Why? Wouldn't he understand why you would come here?"

Would he? Yeah, of course. Would he let him come alone? Not even a chance. 

"It's not that he wouldn't understand," Stiles said. "More like he'd want to come with, and I wasn't really feeling up to putting on a show, you know?" He shrugged at Derek's confused, searching look. "Sometimes I need to do things alone, okay? Especially now. After…everything that happened."

"Or maybe alone is the last thing you should be right now," Derek retorted.

Oh yeah. There it is. The exact reason why Stiles tried to avoid Derek at all costs. It'd been so long, he'd almost forgotten how irritating his know-it-all, I-know-what's-best-for-you attitude was to him. He wouldn't do so again.

"Under the circumstances," Stiles said, "I think alone is exactly what I need to be. It sure as hell beats pretending I’m not as angry as I am, or as terrified that what happened to me could happen again."

Stiles swallowed hard and mumbled, "I killed people, Derek. Maybe I didn't do it on purpose, but it still happened because of me. Because I was weak. Too weak to realize what I was doing. What I was letting inside of me. What I let control me."

And he had, hadn't he? He'd let the nogitsune in. He'd let it take over his mind and body, doing things Stiles would never have done. Never have stomached. 

"I stabbed Scott with that sword, Derek. I kidnapped Lydia. I ordered the Oni to _kill_ Allison. I broke your arm at the loft." Stiles lifted his hands, rubbed the heel of them into his eyes. "My body did those things, my mind saw them happening, and I couldn't stop it. I couldn't stop _me_."

Strong, warm fingers wrapped around his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face. "Look at me, Stiles" Derek ordered, almost growled. "Look at my face and tell me if I blame you for what happened to me. To any of us."

He didn't want to look. Didn't want to see. 

Because he knew Derek didn't blame him. None of them blamed him.

All of them should. 

"I can't, man. I can't look at you. When I look at you, all I see is it. All I know is pain. Yours, mine, Scott's." He shuddered, apprehension gripping at his heart as he whispered, "I hate it, man. I hate that I was so weak. That I gave up instead of fought harder. I nearly killed you and Chris with a bomb meant for my father because I let the Nogitsune inside of me." 

Stiles shivered. Trembled as a cold chill worked its way up his spine and a sharp, icy feeling shot up his right arm. 

He knew that feeling. He knew it very, very well.

He staggered. Would have fallen if Derek hadn't still been holding onto his wrists, helping to guide him toward one of the stone benches a few feet behind him.

"Breathe," Derek ordered, pushing him to sit down on the bench. "Come on, Stiles. Breathe for me, dammit."

He was trying. Didn't Derek think he was trying? Couldn't he hear him gasping? Feel his panic at the idea of choking to death?

Hands. Hands were on his face. Palms flat against his cheeks as warm breath trickled over his nose, across his mouth. "Open your eyes, Stiles. Please. Open your eyes and look at mine."

It was the pleading that did it. That slight begging tone he never would have predicated had come from Derek. 

His eyes shot open. Focused on the older man until he could see the color of his eyes. Recognize the simple understanding in his gaze. 

"Good," Derek said, nodding at him. "That's good, Stiles. Keep focused on my eyes, okay? Keep drawing in more air."

Stiles had no idea how much time passed before Derek lowered his hands from his face, but if he had to guess, it was much longer than five or ten minutes. Probably closer to twenty. Twenty minutes of staring into Derek's eyes, feeling cracked open and overexposed.

_Jesus_. How the hell was he supposed to handle that? 

"I'm okay now," he said, placing his hand on the stone bench and trying to lever up himself onto his feet. A quick hand to his shoulder had him lowering right back down again. "What are you doing? I said I was okay, man. I said I was fine."

Derek lifted his brow. Crossed both arms across his chest. "You were lying, Stiles. You are not okay. You are nowhere near okay." He sighed and settled down onto the bench next to Stiles. "It's okay, you know. To not be okay. To not be fine."

The werewolf didn't look at him, but he did bump his thigh against Stiles' leg. As if that was a thing they suddenly did now. A thing to match all the other things they'd done but didn't do. 

"If I'm not fine, Derek, if I'm not okay, I don't know where in the hell that leaves me, dude." He spoke voice so low only a supernatural creature like Derek could hear it, but he couldn't say it any louder. Didn't want to say it all. "It's like I’m me but I'm not me, you know. Like whatever was inside me before everything went to shit is still there but different, changed, and I can't access that part of me the way I used to. I don't even know how anymore."

For a long time, Derek said nothing. If it were anyone else, Stiles would've thought he hadn't heard what he said to him. But he wasn't anyone else, so Stiles knew that he heard him. 

He frowned, blowing out a harsh breath. "I don't even know why I'm talking to you. I sure haven't talked to anyone else about it. I haven't even wanted to, if I'm being honest here, and for some reason, I am. And with you, of all people."

Which was yet another thing Stiles didn't get. Like, at all.

"Maybe it's easier to tell me because you know I won't judge you for it."

At that, Stiles laughed. Long and loud and a little bit hysterical. "Dude. You are the most judgmental person I've ever met. You always think you know better than I do, and you never fail to let me know it. So come on, big guy. Let's hear it, yeah? Let's hear your big sales pitch for this one. Tell me how to fix me, Obi Won. You're my only hope."

Derek rolled his eyes. Shoved his shoulder with a hand. "You're an idiot. And don't quote Star Wars at me, Stiles. This isn't a movie."

No, but maybe it should be. At least then, he'd know what the main plot was, and who the villain may or may not turn out to be.

All traces of humor left him as he asked, "Do you ever wish you could go back and do it all over? That the things that led to your biggest mistakes in life weren't there to attract you, allowing you to change everything that came next. Came after."

"Yes. Every day."

_God_. Of course he did. How could he not? "I’m sorry I brought up Kate that day in the hospital, man. I never should have thrown that in your face like I did that night, and especially not in front of any of the others."

He could feel Derek's gaze on him. Sharp, predatory, assessing. "I'm sorry I wasn't smart enough to realize Jennifer wasn't who she said she was. Maybe if I had been, your dad wouldn't have been taken and you wouldn't have been taken over by a thousand year old evil fox spirit."

Huh. "So, what you mean is, when I feel like drowning myself in my own bathtub, I should really go over to the loft and drown you instead. Good to know, Derek. Good to know."

He saw Derek's glare out of the corner of his eyes and almost smirked when the older man rolled his eyes and muttered, "You are such an asshole. Why are you such an asshole?"

"I have abandonment issues. Trust issues, too." He spared Derek another glance and added, "I have it on good authority that you can relate to both of those things. Is that true, man?"

"Probably," Derek said, shrugging again. "I've never been good at psychoanalyzing myself, though. You'd need to ask my therapist in New York if you really want to know about my issues."

Wow. Sourwolf had a sense of humor after all. Or was that part about the therapist actually true? Stiles narrowed his eyes. Focused on Derek's face. "Dude. Did you really go see a shrink? Force yourself to talk about your feelings with them?" 

"No. I mean, yes, I saw someone. But no, I didn't force myself to talk to them." He frowned, meeting Stiles eyes again as he offered, "I didn't talk at all. Not to any one of the dozens of psychologists Laura dragged me to over the years. I couldn't. They didn't know the truth about me, and I couldn't tell them." He stopped, blowing out a hard, self-deprecating breath. "I couldn't tell anyone."

He leaned forward, lowering his head to look at the ground as he brought his elbows up to rest on his knees. "I slept with Kate because she was beautiful, and she made me feel like I was the only guy in the world for her. I should've known something was wrong, but I saw what I wanted to see and convinced myself all the warning bells that rang around her weren't exactly what they were."

"That was my mistake," he said, swallowing hard, fiddling with his fingers. "I paid the price for that with the loss of almost all of my family, definitely with the loss of my adolescence."

So he had been underage when he slept with Kate. Stiles had thought so but hadn't been entirely sure. Now, it made his stomach clench and roll to even think about it, let alone know that it was true.

"There are laws against that, you know. She could've gone to jail for that alone."

"Yes, but I had no proof," Derek said, "and she was an adult with an extremely powerful, well-connected family." That he was just a kid who lost his whole world in one horrible, nightmarish day went unsaid. Stiles heard it anyway.

_Jesus Christ_. They really were a pair, weren't they?

Stiles opened his mouth to say something, but Derek looked up again, meeting his eyes with a pained gaze, as he said, "I get that there are things you can't talk about to your dad and your friends, Stiles. That there are things you'd like to never talk about with anybody ever, or really even think about yourself. But trust me, when I say it's of no help to you to keep things locked inside. It does just as much harm in there as it does bringing it out into the open. Sometimes more."

Yeah, but at least locked inside him he's the only one to break from it. 

"In case you haven't noticed," Stiles said, sighing again, "I do like to talk, but not about what matters. Not about what bothers me. It's a defense mechanism, I guess. I've had it since my mother died. I got really good at pretending to be fine back then. So good everyone around me thought I was. But I wasn't. I wound up having to see my first psychotherapist at eight because I went without sleep for almost week straight."

"And I bet you lied your way through the entire meeting, didn't you?"

He had, and the fact that Derek knew that about him without having to be told made him smile. And frown. "Dude, what in the hell are we doing? We don't share things with each other. We don't talk about our feelings."

Derek lifted an eyebrow at him. "Maybe we should. Maybe we need to."

"You want to talk about our feelings? Are you serious right now?" He shook his head, and shifted on the seat bench. "That is a bad, bad idea, my man. Today is an anomaly. Keeping it up past this is like asking for trouble. A different kind of trouble, I'll give you. But still trouble."

Derek straightened, turning on the bench until his knee pressed against the outside of Stiles' thigh. "You're deflecting. Stop it. If you don't want to talk to me, fine. All you have to do is say so no. There's no reason to resort to jokes to avoid talking about it. I think we're a bit past that now."

They were, dammit. "Fucking hell, Derek! Can't you just go back to being a dick to me? It was much easier to pretend to hate you then."

"That was you pretending?" he asked, his tone teasingly doubtful before sobering to something more serious. More steady. "You can hate me if it makes you feel better, Stiles, but I'm still here if you need to talk. Or if you want to talk, about more than just the bad jokes you inflict on us all."

Stiles chuckled at that last bit. "I know you mean well, dude. I do, and I'm thankful for the offer, but…I don't know if I can talk to anyone like you're asking me to talk to you. I just…it's hard for me to do that."

"It wouldn't be so important it if it wasn't hard for you. For both of us, actually."

Yeah, that, at least, he knew. "I can try."

"Do or do not. There is no try."

_Star Wars_. Derek was quoting Star Wars to him. Yoda, even, for Christ's sake. 

Stiles glanced down at his lap. Counted the fingers on both his hands. Then counted the ones on Derek's for good measure.

Ten fingers each. Not a dream, then. 

_Awesome_.

"Don't tell Scotty you can quote Star Wars," Stiles warned. "He hasn't watched any of the movies, and he hates it when I say things from them that he doesn't get."

"Thanks," Derek muttered dryly. "I'll keep that in mind for the next pack meeting."

_Pack meeting_. Was Derek in Scott's pack now? "Are we pack, Derek? Is that why you're offering to be the Yoda to my Luke?"

"If you're Luke," Derek said, ignoring his question about the pack, "does that make Scott Han, then? That doesn't seem to fit his role."

No. No, it didn't. 

"Scott is probably a Luke, too," Stiles admitted after a moment to think it over. "Deaton is definitely Obi Won. That guy doesn't ever tell us shit."

"So we have two Luke's then? That doesn't make sense. What about Anakin?"

Huh. "Is Scott Anakin or am I?"

"Scott. You're already Luke, remember?"

Stiles laughed. A real one this time. "Dude," he said. "That's awesome. Seriously. You just talked Star Wars with me. It doesn't get more amazing or bond-forming than that."

"I'll make a note of it in my journal. Today I bonded with Stiles."

He said it as a joke, but the sudden trip in Stiles's heartbeat was anything but. A fact only made more confusing when Derek raised an eyebrow at him.

"What was that?" Derek asked. "Why did your heart skip a beat?"

Stiles shrugged, but said nothing. What could he say? _Hey, Derek, I seem to have developed an unexpected attraction to you in the last few moments. Please don’t rip my throat out with your teeth if you don’t like it._ Yeah, that'd go over real well, wouldn't it?

He shook his head, adjusted himself on the bench, and froze when Derek's hand reached over to grip his inside it.

"Stiles," Derek said, squeezing his hand. "Answer me. Why did your heart do that? Why did it skip a beat? Was it because I said I bonded with you?"

His traitorous heart tripped again then pounded against his ribs hard enough that Stiles feared himself on the verge of a second panic attack. This one for altogether different reasons. Reasons he wasn't sure he even understood, or wanted to understand given the way Derek suddenly looked at him.

"It doesn't matter," Stiles said, pulling his hand from beneath Derek's and getting up from the bench to walk a few feet away. "I'm a little out of sorts still is all. Don't read too much into anything I do right now." _Or say. Definitely say._

Derek rose to his feet, his large hands fiddling with the zipper on his jacket before disappearing into the pockets again. "Okay," he said, voice holding no inflection as he looked off into the tree line he'd stepped out of earlier. "I won't read anything into it. For now, at least. But later, Stiles, later, we are going to talk about things, about this. Because we both know there was a reason for what just happened, and I'm pretty sure we both know what it is."

His gaze shifted back to Stiles then, his hazel eyes commanding as they moved about Stiles's face, searching for something Stiles wasn't sure he'd find. Or even like it if he did find it.

Three and a half steps brought Derek to a standstill in front of him. His arm lifted, his hand reaching for Stiles's cheek as if he'd done it a thousand times before. 

"You aren't nearly as subtle as you think you are," he said, eyes intense, voice firm, confident, as he added, "and I'm not nearly as blind as I pretend to be about you."

_Breath_. Breath was necessary. Required, even. But his lungs didn't seem to want to work. Not right now, at least. 

Because something big was happening here with Derek and for once, Stiles didn't want to ruin it with a snide comment. He wasn't sure why he didn't exactly, but— 

No, that wasn't true. He knew why. He just wasn't sure he should let it happen, or that he wanted it to happen at all.

Except he did. Of course he did.

"I'm not gay," Stiles rushed out, forcing the words passed his lips. "I might be bi. Or I could be bi, I guess, but…I've never done anything with a guy. Never even wanted to until…" 

He stopped abruptly. Unable to finish his thought as Derek's thumb rubbed across his cheekbone. Too intimate to be an accident. Too solid to be a dream. 

"Until what?" Derek prompted, licking his lips, shifting his feet until his body came into contact with Stiles'. "Until me? Until this? Until…now?"

Stiles swallowed. Nodded. "Yes. To all of the above."

Derek's mouth spread into a smile. Rare, real, _devastating_. 

"You sound nervous. Am I making you nervous, Stiles?"

Of course he made him fucking nervous. He was touching him like a…like a boyfriend would. Or a… Or a lover. He was touching him like a lover. Like a…a man who wanted him and wasn't afraid to show it.

Stiles narrowed his eyes. "Are you fucking with me here, Derek? Is this some kind of trick? A joke to you?"

"It's not a trick, and it's not a joke. The other…" Derek shrugged, smirking a little bit, "I'm not sure you're ready for it yet. Actually, I know you're not."

What? "Did something cast a spell on you? Is that what this is? Are you affected by a lust spell or something? Wait, is that even a thing? Are there lust spells, Derek? Please tell me there are lust spells. I need to know. For science."

"Science," Derek snorted. "You need to know because you're too curious for your own damn good," he paused, sighed, and continued with, "and for mine." He took a step back then, lowering his arm back to his side as he said, "I should go. Before I… This can't happen. Not here. Not yet."

Stiles blinked and automatically reached for the werewolf when he tried to take another step away from him. "What can't? Derek, what's going on here? What's happening between us?"

"You know what. You've always known. So have I. We've just…ignored it." He closed his eyes, blowing out a harsh breath of air through his nose. "I can't ignore it anymore, Stiles. I want to, believe me, but…I can't. I want you. I want this, even though I know I shouldn't. Even though I know it won't end well. That it can't end well, for either of us. But I still want it. I still want you."

His eyes opened again, pinning Stiles with a dark, desperate look. "I know it's crazy. You don't have to tell me that. It's insane," he said, lifting an arm, thrusting his fingers through his hair. "To want what I want. To want what _you_ want. Christ, Stiles. It's ridiculous to even consider it."

"I suck at relationships. I choose people that are all wrong for me, all the time. But this, but you," he dropped his hand and reached for Stiles's waist, pulling him in closer to him, "it doesn't feel wrong, Stiles. It feels…like far too many shades of right, actually."

_Holy shit_. "How many words was that?" Stiles asked, breathing hard, fast, looking from Derek's face to the hand curled around his waist then back to his face again. "It had to be a lot. More than I've ever heard you say before. I didn't even know you could say that many words. Not all at once. And definitely not to me."

"Yeah, well, you've grown on me, I think." 

Derek gave his waist a quick squeeze and trailed his other hand up Stiles's arm, over his shoulder, and around the back of his neck, cupping his nape with his palm. 

"We need to talk, I know that," he said, voice low, and unmistakably shaky. "I do. I just… Can I kiss you, Stiles? I really need to kiss you. I _want_ to kiss you."

Stiles swallowed, despite the sudden dryness of his mouth. "Kiss me. You want to kiss me. Like…right now? Right here? In the middle of—" He broke off and licked his lips. Fastened his gaze to Derek's. "Okay. Okay," he said. "Let's do this. Let's…k-kiss me. You should definitely…" he pulled in a sharp breath and let it out slowly, so slowly "…definitely kiss me. Like… now. Right now, Derek. Kiss me right no—"

Soft, warm lips attached themselves to his. Not moving, but resting, as if waiting for him to decide how he wanted to handle it. React to it.

Stiles groaned, low-level and gut-deep, and parted his lips to breathe into Derek's mouth. Then he fisted his hands in the lapels of the wolf's jacket and yanked him forward, hard. 

"Kiss me right, dammit," he said, breathing into Derek's mouth again, rubbing his body against the other man and relishing the way his hands tightened where they rested. "Kiss me like you mean it. Like…the fucking world is gonna burst around us if you don't."

Derek gave him a quick glare but let go of his neck and waist to frame Stiles's face with his palms again, his mouth sliding hesitantly over Stiles' before parting to take his bottom lip between both of his, nipping gently before sucking hard. 

Stiles released another groan, a whole body tremor, and then gasped as Derek's tongue slipped across his lips to find and rub against his. 

_Massaging, teasing, encouraging._

Stiles had never been kissed like this. So slow, deep, and thorough. It felt like he was being branded. Like his whole insides were being rearranged, and everything that made him Stiles was now marked and claimed as Derek's.

It was too much, and also not nearly enough. 

He wanted more. He wanted…Derek. 

But not here. Not now. Because Stiles knew that Derek was right before. 

He wasn't ready. Not for this. Not for him.

Not for _them_.

Pulling back, Stiles drew in a sharp lungful of air. He opened his eyes just in time to see everything he felt reflected back at him through Derek's.

_Jesus_. The guy was out to end him, wasn't he?

"I'm sorry," he whispered, drawing in another quick couple of breaths, forcing his fingers to release their hold on Derek's jacket. "I wasn't… That wasn't…" 

He stopped and ran a hand over his head, tugging at the too long strands at the back of his neck as he blurted out, "Fuck, I don't know how to do this, Derek. I don't know…what this even is. You kissed me, man. We kissed and I… _fuck_. This is so messed up. I'm so messed up. I—I liked it. I shouldn't have— But I did. Jesus, I did. I liked it and I kissed you back." 

His head shot up as the full meaning of that fact took root and he found Derek's sharp, sympathetic gaze focused on his face. He swallowed again, hard. "I kissed you back, man. I wasn't sure I would, but…I did. I," he blew out a breath, "really fucking did."

"You didn't want to, did you? You actually thought you wouldn't. You _hoped_ you wouldn't." There was a fair bit of disappointment in Derek's tone, though his eyes didn't display it as they roamed over Stiles' face. "You weren't ready. I kissed you and you weren't ready. For it, or for me. Jesus. You aren't ready for me."

No. No, he wasn't. 

"I'm sorry," he said, meaning it. "I want to be ready, but I'm not. I'm not ready. I don't know if I'll ever be ready. Not for you. You…could destroy me, dude. Not physically, because I know you'd never hurt me like that, Derek. I know you wouldn't. But emotionally…you could fuck me up ten ways to Sunday and what's worse, I know I could do the same to you. So, no, I'm not ready, and honestly, I don't think you are, either."

Derek looked away, brow furrowed, expression contemplative. "Maybe you're right. Maybe we're both not ready." He shifted back to look at him and there was something in his eyes now that Stiles couldn't read. Couldn't even begin to guess at. "Maybe we need to fix things inside us before we can ever be really ready for anything else. Anyone else."

His eyes bore into Stiles as he said, "I'm willing to do that, Stiles. I'm willing to work on fixing me. Are you willing to do the same with you? Because we're both broken, and we both need to fix that in ourselves if we're ever to move on, have some kind of life. Whether that life's together or apart."

Stiles was seventeen. He didn't want to be broken at seventeen. He didn't want to have to fix himself. To talk about what happened to him. Not to anyone. And yet, he knew Derek was right. He had to fix himself, and he had to do it now. While he still could. While there was still enough of him left to fix. To save.

"Okay," Stiles whispered, nodding his head. "I can…do that. If you can do that, I can do it, too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Yes. I can do it. I can fix me. I want to fix me."

Derek smiled. "I want to fix you, too. And me." He shrugged. "I want to fix me, too. I…need to fix me, too."

Yeah, he did. 

"So, what happens now?" Stiles questioned. "We can't just pretend we didn't kiss each other. I don't think it works that way, even if we did try it."

"No," Derek said with a wry grin, "it doesn't work that way. As for what happens now, or next, I don't know. I guess we wait and see where we are in a few months. Maybe a year. Doesn't matter. I'm not going anywhere. I can wait."

Wait…for what? For Stiles? 

"You shouldn't wait, Derek. It might not ever happen and then where would you be? Waiting for something that doesn't come?" Stiles shook his head. "You shouldn't do that. I don't want you to do that. I don't want you to wait. Not when I don't know if it'll happen."

"It'll happen. Someday, Stiles, it will happen."

He sounded sure. How could he sound so sure? _Be so sure_. Stiles wasn't. He wasn't sure about anything anymore. Least of all Derek. Least of all himself. 

Especially himself.

He swallowed again and wanted to sit down but was afraid if he did, he might not get back up again. "This is crazy, man. It doesn't make any sense. _We_ don't make any sense."

Except they did. They do. They made perfect sense, and that, well, it scared the hell out of Stiles. Because he and Derek weren't supposed to make sense. Not in this, and certainly not together.

But if they were going to begin, he supposed here was a good place to start. They were on the same page here, at least. Who knew if they would be in the future, but right now, here, in this moment, they were on the same page. Wanted the same thing, just…probably for different reasons.

Derek deserved something good in his life. He deserved to get something that he wanted. _Someone_ he wanted. Someone that wasn't psychotic or using him for some nefarious purpose. 

He could do better than Stiles, of course. Anyone could do better than Stiles. He was a bit of an acquired taste for most people. Derek, though, Derek for some reason wanted Stiles and Stiles couldn't…wrap his head around that really.

Because normally, no one wanted Stiles. Not really. Not the way he wanted them to. Not the way it counted. Except…Derek did, didn't he? Derek wanted him. Derek planned to _wait for him_. Maybe even wait for years for him. 

Stiles hoped it wasn't for years. He didn't want Derek to wait years. He didn't want Derek to wait at all. But he needed for him to.

Stiles wasn't ready for what Derek wanted from him. Not right now. He wasn't old enough for it, either, he supposed. Another year and he would be. Old enough, that is. He wasn't sure if he would be ready then any more than he was now.

Yet, part of him wanted to be, didn't it? Part of him ached to be ready for Derek. To be able to kiss him and know that he belonged with him. That they belonged with each other.

"Stop freaking out. It's fine. I can handle it. I can wait."

Stiles narrowed his eyes and glared, hard. "Don't do that. Don't you be a fucking martyr. Not for me. Never for me. Do you hear me, Derek? Don't you be a fucking martyr for me. You deserve better than that."

"Then _be_ better than that, Stiles." Derek moved closer, close enough to grip him by both biceps and tug him forward, back against his chest. "Stop hiding behind your lies. Stop hiding behind your clever words and use them to help yourself. To get better. To get _whole_. If you do that, I'll do the same. I'll learn to use my words instead of hiding behind my wolf powers then… Then we'll see."

They'll see. See what? See if they could be something? Be together?

Stiles frowned. "What if it doesn't work? What if we try and we fail? Derek, what if we don't get better? What if we _can't_?"

"What if we _can_?" he countered, rubbing his hands up and down Stiles' arms rather than gripping them. "What if we do? What if we do it all and we have a chance to be something together? Would you take it? Would you want to share something with me?" Derek squeezed his arms once and then let go. "Or would you rather walk away from it? Forget we ever had this talk."

"Because the truth is, Stiles, I know what I want, and who. I know it right now, right in this moment," he said, pocketing his hands again. "I knew it a year ago, too. You're the one who doesn't know. You're the one who needs to figure it out. Not right now, but at some point soon. In the future. When you're ready to face what we could be if we just tried hard enough."

Derek wanted him a year ago? As in…when they met in the woods, or was it after that? When he got him arrested for murder? Or when he almost cut off his arm at the Deaton's clinic? Or, God, when he shoved him against the wall in his bedroom?

Stiles gave his head another shake, not wanting to think about the images that last thought conjured up. Not in front of the person responsible for it, at least. Later, though, when he was home alone, free to think about what was going on now, he'd think about that moment with Derek in his room. What might've happened if things had gone down differently between them that day. Or any other day since.

"This has been the weirdest morning," Stiles said, looking at Derek again. "It hasn't gone at all like I expected for it, too."

Derek smiled, lifting a shoulder as he turned sideways toward the trees. "That isn't necessarily a bad thing, is it? Being surprised by something. Something not bad, or capable of killing you."

"But you are capable of killing me," Stiles pointed out.

Derek's gaze shot back to his. Tension lining his whole body as his mouth fell open to whisper, "No, Stiles. No, I'm not. I'm not capable of killing you. Someone else, maybe, but not you. Never, never you."

Stiles blinked. Uncertain how to react beneath Derek's raw, open gaze. "That's… good to know, man. Really," he swallowed, "good to know."

Stiles shook his head again and backed up. "I really need to go, dude. Dad could drive by to check on me and if he sees the jeep gone…he'll fucking panic." Kind of like Stiles was panicking right now. "I'll—We'll…talk soon, yeah?"

"You don't have to run from me, Stiles. It's okay that you're not ready. I'm not going to push you, or beg you to try before you can. Before you _know_ you can," he amended, after a beat. "You don't have to promise to call, or come see me, or anything. I don't want things to be awkward between us. We're pack. We'll see each other, and we'll work together when something happens in town."

Which meant they'd have to find a way to deal with this thing between them or risk getting the other hurt and the rest of the pack figuring out the cause. 

Yeah, Stiles thought, this wouldn't be awkward at all.

Before Stiles could say as much, Derek turned around and walked away. Back through the trees and disappearing from sight. Or, Stiles' sight, at least.

Yep. Awkward, it was then. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Then again, maybe it wouldn't be awkward. Maybe it would be just the same as it always was. Maybe the rest of the pack wouldn't even notice something had changed between him and Derek. 

Stiles could hope, right? He could do that. He _would_ do that. He would hope…and pray Scott didn't suddenly decide to learn how to use all his wolf senses. 

Because God help him or Derek if the new alpha were to figure out something was going on between them. Something bigger than just the usual amount of sarcastic banter and angry frustration. Or was that sexual frustration? Stiles couldn't actually decide anymore.

He should probably figure that out, he supposed. Sooner, rather than later, too.

Because later, later, Stiles had other things to decide, and to admit. 

Even if he were only admitting them to himself right now, or Derek. 

Possibly Derek. Probably Derek. He couldn't hide his feelings forever, after all. 

At some point soon, the wolf would know Stiles wasn't as in denial as he thought him to be, and once he realized it, Stiles wasn't at all sure how long Derek would wait to make another move on him. Or if even he wanted him to wait.

He did, but he also didn't. He also wanted him to push, and push hard.

Until Stiles was nothing but a quivering, pleading mess of raw need beneath him.

Maybe then, with Derek holding him so secure, he'd actually be able to sleep at night, and to forget just how close he'd come to losing everything.

And everyone.

***FIN***


End file.
